


There Will Be Light

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Drug Use, Electroconvulsive Therapy, M/M, Medical Procedures, Medication, Memory Loss, Next to Normal AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 04:29:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Next to Normal AU. A group of friends is about to face the music as they struggle to take care of themselves and each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He's Not Here

**Author's Note:**

> This popped in my head during R Shipping Week and despite my previous vow to stop writing cracky AUs, I couldn't _not_ write this.
> 
> Usual disclaimer: anything you recognize does not belong to me. _Next to Normal_ belongs to Tom Kitt and Brian Yorkey, and the summary for this fic was unashamedly bastardized from the tagline for the show. Anything this fic says or implies about mental illness/drug use/etc. is based solely on my own experiences as seen through the lens of N2N and should not be taken as representative of all mental illness or addiction, nor should any medical advice herein contained be considered sound or followed without consulting an actual physician.

“Where have you been?” Grantaire demanded as soon as the door swung closed. “Do you have any idea what time it is? How worried I’ve been?”

Enjolras just grinned and crossed over to Grantaire to drop a kiss onto his lips, ignoring his pouting. “You should’ve seen them,” he said excitedly. “I think people are really starting to listen, to react, to work towards change. It’s wonderful. Even you would have to start believing it.”

Though Grantaire snorted and rolled his eyes, his pout softened into a small smile. “Even so, you should have let me know where you were. I’ve been up all night worrying about you and what could have happened to you.” His voice was quiet as he said, “I can’t lose you, Enj.”

“I know,” Enjolras said, his voice equally quiet, and he kissed Grantaire again, letting Grantaire run his hands through Enjolras’s golden curls as if reassuring himself that he was there. “And I’m sorry.”

They both looked up as Combeferre called down from the upstairs, “Grantaire? Is everything alright down there?”

Grantaire looked nervously at Enjolras and shoved him towards the back staircase. “Go upstairs before he sees you,” he hissed.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “What, is he mad at me again or something?”

“Or something,” Grantaire said distractedly. “Go on, go.” Though Enjolras sighed, he disappeared up the back staircase just before Combeferre came down the front, pulling his robe on. “You didn’t have to come down,” Grantaire told him, fidgeting slightly.

Combeferre shook his head. “I thought I heard voices.”

Grantaire smiled in what he hoped was a disarming fashion as he said, “Just me. Talking to myself.”

“Out loud?” Combeferre asked, still looking suspicious, though his expression softened when he looked at Grantaire, and he held out his hand. “Come to bed. You know I get cold when you’re not there.”

Grantaire bit his lip as he looked up at him, about to reply when the back door creaked open. “I’ll be right up,” he told Combeferre before turning to raise an eyebrow at Courfeyrac, who could barely make it through the door, he was so drunk. “Morning, Courf.”

Courfeyrac gave him the finger as he ran into the kitchen table. “Fuck.” He grinned wildly at Grantaire. “Taire! What in the world are you still doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Grantaire crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Tell me you at least got laid or something, because God knows you need it.”

Shrugging, Courfeyrac stumbled over to get himself a glass of water, his mood suddenly darkening. “Not that you’d care what I do,” he muttered.

“What did you say?”

Courfeyrac smiled at Grantaire, a bitter smile. “Nothing.”

Grantaire looked at him for a long moment before shrugging. “Whatever. I’m going to go have sex with Combeferre.”

“Jesus Christ,” Courfeyrac sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Of the things I needed to know, that was not one of them. At this rate, you two are going to owe me a new pair of earplugs.” Grantaire just waved at him as he went upstairs, and Courfeyrac slumped against the kitchen counter, suddenly looking exhausted. “Where have you been, Courfeyrac?” he asked out loud to himself, mimicking Grantaire’s tone. “We were worried, Courf. Glad you got home ok.” He sighed and glared at the staircase. “Like they even care.”

* * *

 

Grantaire sat up in bed, automatically searching for his boxers, but Combeferre’s arm snaked around his waist, pulling him back down. “Don’t go running off on me,” Combeferre said softly, a smile in his voice as he pressed a kiss to Grantaire’s temple. “We’ve got nothing going this morning, so let’s just stay in bed and cuddle.”

“Cuddle?” Grantaire snorted, though he reluctantly laid his head against Combeferre’s chest, idly tracing his fingers up Combeferre’s side. “Are you sure you don’t have anything better to do?”

Combeferre chuckled lightly and tilted Grantaire’s chin up so that he could kiss him. “I promise you that there is never anything better in my life than you. And nothing more important or more worth my time.” He carded his fingers through Grantaire’s hair before adding, “Besides, I don’t have to be in to work as early today, so I figured we could spend the time together.”

The breath hitched in Grantaire’s throat and he closed his eyes for a brief moment before smiling brightly at Combeferre. “As true as that is, one of us still needs to make breakfast for Courf, or he’s liable to burn down the house.” He sat up, this time ignoring Combeferre’s moaned protest, slipping out of bed and grabbing his boxers. “Come on, I’ll even make you some.”

* * *

 

Whistling contentedly, Grantaire beat some eggs together to make an omlette for Courfeyrac. He felt Combeferre slip his arms around his waist and kiss his cheek, and pushed him off. “Shoo,” he scolded, pushing the bowl away from the edge of the counter so that it wouldn’t accidentally fall.

Combeferre just laughed and kissed him again before going to sit next to Courfeyrac at the table, who was sitting in stone-faced silence. Then Grantaire saw Enjolras lean against the counter next to him, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Morning, Beautiful,” Enjolras said with a smirk, turning to him and kissing his cheek. Grantaire blushed but grinned, turning his attention back to the bowl, whistling louder as he cracked more eggs into the mix.

He was so intent on what he was doing that he didn’t seem to notice that he had added the entire carton of eggs, and was whisking them with so much force that the eggs were beginning to slop over the sides. “Grantaire, is everything ok?” Combeferre asked, while Courfeyrac looked up and said concernedly, “Dude, come on.”

Then Enjolras said quietly, “Grantaire”, and the whisk in Grantaire’s hand clattered to a stop.

He looked up to see the three of them staring at him, and forced a smile onto his face. “It’s fine,” he said quickly. “ _I’m_  fine.” He looked at Courfeyrac, and then at Enjolras. “You should go. You’ll be late to class.”

Courfeyrac started to say something, then thought better of it, grabbing his bag and heading out, Enjolras close behind him. Once they were gone, Combeferre crossed over to him, concern evident in his expression as he said softly, “What’s going on?”

Grantaire shook his head. “Nothing. I just…I lost track of what I was doing.”

Combeferre reached out and took his hand. “It’s ok,” he said gently. “We’ll go see the doctor today. Get your meds adjusted. It’ll be ok, I promise.”

Though Grantaire allowed Combeferre to pull him into a hug, his expression didn’t change as he said numbly. “Right. It will be ok.”

* * *

 

Courfeyrac slammed his bag with perhaps more force than necessary on the table in the study carrel, glad that he had remembered for once to reserve the room for studying for the bar exam. It was all he wanted at the moment — to graduate from law school, to pass the bar, and then to finally move out of that house.

He had never imagined that he would feel this way, but his roommates got on his nerves sometimes. He didn’t consider himself particularly needy, but he also didn’t like being completely ignored, which they seemed to do half the time. And yes, Grantaire had his problems, and Courfeyrac understood that, but half his life seemed to be spent picking up after Grantaire and fixing things that he had done.

And frankly, he was tired of it.

With a sigh, he pulled one of the huge textbooks out of his bag, flipping to the proper page and uncapping his highlighter. He was about to get down to it when he heard someone open the study room door. “I have this room reserved until 10,” he said automatically, without looking up.

He heard a laugh, and someone say cheerfully, “I know. I just wanted to make sure you were ok. I heard you, uh, set your stuff down. A little loudly. Wanted to make sure nothing broke.”

Courfeyrac looked up at see a smiling man, about his own age, gazing back at him with bright green eyes. He was handsome, strawberry-blond hair just long enough to flop into his eye, and was holding a battered notebook in one hand, a pen in the other. “Oh. Uh. Yeah. I mean, everything’s fine. Just…venting some frustration.”

The guy’s smile widened. “I understand that impulse. Only I normally let my frustration out a different way.” He waved his notebook with a grin.

Courfeyrac couldn’t help but smile back at him. “Are you a law student?”

“Ha. Definitely not,” the guy said, taking a step further into the room. “PhD student. Studying the Romantics. But I like to study in here. It’s quiet and peaceful. Well, normally.” He stuck out his hand for Courfeyrac to shake. “I’m Jehan.”

“Courfeyrac,” Courf said, shaking his hand.

Jehan’s eyes widened. “That’s a mouthful,” he teased, though it was gentle. “So. Courfeyrac. Want to tell me what happened to make you need to vent so much?”

Courfeyrac shrugged. “You wouldn’t want to hear it.”

Jehan examined him for a moment. “I think I would.”

With a sigh, Courfeyrac looked down at the book he was supposed to be studying, and then back up at Jehan, who was still grinning. “Well, if you want to hear about it…It’s my roommates.”

Taking a seat, Jehan smiled reassuringly at him. “Go on.”

* * *

 

Grantaire stood in the bathroom, gripping the sink with both his hands, looking at the long line of pill bottles, all with pills he was supposed to be taking. He didn’t hear Enjolras come in behind him, but did feel his hand on his shoulder. “I hate that you take so many pills,” Enjolras said softly. “You’re not like yourself when you’re on the medication.”

Grantaire shrugged. “I don’t disagree. But what else can I do?”

Enjolras met his gaze squarely. “You can always not take them.” Grantaire sighed and shook his head, but Enjolras continued before he could speak. “I’m serious, Grantaire. You’re a grown man. You can make your own decisions, especially about your health.”

Grantaire’s hand was hesitant as he reached for the pill bottle. “You don’t think that’d be stupid?” he asked, a little desperately. “Going against the doctor’s orders and all?”

Enjolras reached out, covering Grantaire’s trembling hand with his own steady one. “I don’t think it’d be stupid at all. I think it would be really brave of you.”

Grantaire looked up at him for only a moment of indecision, then popped the cap open on the pill bottle and dumped all the pills into the toilet. He looked up at Enjolras with a shaky grin, and Enjolras gave him a huge smile in return. “I’m really, really proud of you.”

* * *

 

Jehan kissed Courfeyrac gently under the porchlight, a small smile spreading across his face as he laced his fingers with Courfeyrac’s. “Well, I guess this is where I leave you, then. Unless you’ve changed your mind about letting me come in.”

“No way in hell,” Courfeyrac snorted. “I told you, my roommates are…” He searched for the right words to described the men he lived with. “They’re  _different_. And I’m scared to think of what they might do to you, to be honest.”

“What who might do to whom?” Combeferre asked cheerfully as he climbed up the porch steps. His smile widened when he saw Jehan holding Courfeyrac’s hand. “Hello. My name’s Combeferre, and I’m one of Courfeyrac’s roommates.” He switched his gaze to Courfeyrac for a moment before saying pleasantly, “Courf didn’t tell us he had a new, uh, new boyfriend.”

Courfeyrac flushed and started to mutter something, but Jehan spoke over him smoothly. “I’m Jehan. Courfeyrac and I have only been dating for a few weeks. Besides,” he added, squeezing Courfeyrac’s hand reassuringly, “I was just about to leave.”

Though Courfeyrac shot him a grateful look, Combeferre was undeterred, taking Jehan’s arm and steering him through the front door as he told him, “Oh, nonsense. We were all just going to have dinner together, and I’m sure Courfeyrac would love if you could join us.”

He sat Jehan at the table and gave Courfeyrac a look that bore no room for argument, and Courfeyrac shrugged an apology at Jehan, who was trying not to laugh. “Thanks,” Jehan told Combeferre. “I would love to join you for dinner.”

“Traitor,” Courfeyrac muttered.

Grantaire swept into the kitchen, humming under his breath. “Hello,” he said cheerfully, shaking Jehan’s hand. “I’m Grantaire.” He turned to the kitchen, unwrapping tinfoil from something, still humming to himself.

Jehan leaned over to whisper in Courfeyrac’s ear, “Your roommates seem nice. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Courfeyrac frowned, his eyes on Grantaire. “Just wait. You’ll see.”

Combeferre sat down at the table and turned to look at Grantaire as well. “What’re you doing?” he asked curiously.

“Well…” Grantaire said, turning around with a cake in his hands, “I know we normally save dessert for after dinner, but I couldn’t wait, so.”

Jehan looked from Combeferre to Courfeyrac, both of whom seemed frozen in place. “Um. Whose birthday is it?” he asked.

Courfeyrac swallowed and looked down, his hands clenching into fists. “My other roommate’s.”

If anything, Jehan looked even more confused. “I didn’t realize you had another roommate.”

“I don’t. Not anymore.” Courfeyrac shook his head, a muscle working in his jaw. “He died.”

Combeferre shot Courfeyrac a look. “Courf—”

Courfeyrac stood up, eyes blazing. “This is fucked up, Ferre. Even you have to admit that! I thought he was getting better, I thought you were  _helping_ him.” He grabbed Jehan’s hand, not waiting for Combeferre’s answer. “Come on.”

After a long moment, Combeferre stood as well, crossing to Grantaire, who just looked confused. Combeferre gently took the cake from Grantaire’s hands and set it on the counter. “He’s not here,” he told Grantaire gently. “You know that he’s not here. We’ve been over this before. He’s been dead for over five years now. You know that.”

Grantaire shook his head, jerking away from Combeferre, who reached out to take Grantaire’s hands in his. “I thought you were taking the new meds. I thought you were getting better.”

“I flushed the meds.” Grantaire’s voice was flat.

Combeferre shook his head and took a deep, steadying breath. “Ok. It’s ok. We’ll go back to the doctor. We’ll trying something new. It’ll be ok. I understand.”

Grantaire jerked his hands out of Combeferre’s. “No you don’t,” he snapped, suddenly angry. “You don’t understand a goddamn thing. What, are you going to tell me that you miss him, that you mourn him too? Because you don’t! I know you don’t!”

He looked past Combeferre to watch Enjolras creep down the stairs, looking unusually calm as he smiled at Grantaire, who almost missed what Combeferre responded. “I do know. I know that when you’re off the meds, it’s like I barely know you anymore. I know that I’m scared that you’re afraid of me, afraid of our relationship. But I’m here for you, Grantaire. I’ve always been here for you.”

Enjolras smiled. “You’re a liar, Combeferre. You can never be here for him the way that I am.”

Combeferre grabbed Grantaire’s hand again. “Please, Grantaire. You know that I understand, really, I do.”

“You don’t know what it’s like!” Grantaire practically screamed at him. “You don’t know what it’s like to miss him every single day, to constantly feel like a part of you is missing. You may say that you understand, but I know you don’t! You’ve moved on.”

“He was my best friend, Grantaire,” Combeferre said in a tired voice. “He was my best friend, and I loved him, too. But he’s dead. And I love you. And you’re what’s important to me right now, ok?”

Grantaire’s eyes flickered over Combeferre’s shoulder and he looked at Enjolras uncertainly. Enjolras just shrugged. “I’ve always been here for you,” he told Grantaire in an easy voice.

Switching his gaze back to Combeferre, Grantaire shook his head. “No,” he said, almost viciously. “No. You don’t understand. You don’t know anything.” And he pushed past Combeferre, whose shoulders slumped in defeat, and allowed himself to be folded into Enjolras’s embrace.


	2. A Light in the Dark

“So that’s the story of my dead roommate and how my other two roommates hooked up, only one keeps hallucinating the dead one.” Courfeyrac’s voice was dry, full of hollow, bitter humor.

Jehan leaned back on Courfeyrac’s bed and exhaled deeply. “Wow. That’s…wow.”

Courfeyrac laughed dryly. “Pretty much, yeah.”

Rolling over so that he was facing Courfeyrac, Jehan asked quietly, “Forgive me for asking, since I know it’s none of my business, but why don’t you just move out now? Just leave all this drama behind?”

Courfeyrac shrugged, tracing his bedspread with his fingertip. “It’s my own damn fault, really. When we moved into this place it was during undergrad, and we were all pretty political even then. We were concerned about being unfairly evicted, so using my pre-law knowledge, I drew up a pretty ironclad contract. So long as at least one tenant was enrolled full-time at the university and so long as we had not violated the specific terms of our contract, we couldn’t be kicked out.”

“So?” Jehan asked, his voice still quiet.

Shrugging again, Courfeyrac said moodily, “I’m the only one still in school. I had to take some time off after, because Grantaire…he wasn’t handling it well, and Combeferre was in the middle of getting his PhD. Anyway, once I graduate it won’t matter, but before then…I’d be kicking them out. And as much as they may ignore me and focus only on their own twisted drama, they’re still my friends. More than that, really. They’re family.” He shook his head. “You don’t turn your back on family, not after everything we’ve been through.”

Though Jehan nodded, he still looked skeptical. “Well, look, your situation is pretty fucked up. But if you ever need any stress release, my offer from earlier still stands.”

Courfeyrac shot him a dubious look. “What offer? You mean the offer to smoke pot? That’s a little freshman year, don’t you think? Besides, after everything with Grantaire, I don’t know how I feel about mind-altering drugs.”

Jehan laughed slightly. “It’s all natural, man. What is from nature can’t alter you that much, you know?”

Laughing slightly, Courfeyrac leaned in and kissed Jehan lightly. “Sure. Whatever you say. Well, maybe I’ll take you up on it sometime. If things get crazy again, which, if today was any indication, they probably will.”

As if on cue, there was a soft knock on the door, and Grantaire poked his head in. “Hey, I’m not interrupting, am I?”

Courfeyrac stiffened, his entire body tense, though he nodded. “No. Sure. Come in. Or…whatever.”

Grantaire slipped into the room and offered a tentative smile to Jehan before switching his gaze back to Courfeyrac, biting his lip nervously. “I just…I wanted to apologize. About earlier. We didn’t mean… _I_  didn’t mean to put you in the middle of that. Especially with your new boyfriend here.”

“Whatever.” Courfeyrac’s reply was terse, and he didn’t meet Grantaire’s eyes. “Are you going to be going back to the doctor? Getting on new meds?”

Shrugging, Grantaire looked down. “I don’t know. I know things have been a little…rough lately, and I know that you may need our support and Combeferre and I haven’t really been there for you, but—”

“It’s fine.” Courfeyrac still refused to look at him, and his tone was cold. “I’ve always come second to whatever’s going on with you and Combeferre and—and him. I’m used to it by now.”

“Courfeyrac.” There was a pleading note that slipped into Grantaire’s voice, and his hand clutched the edge of Courfeyrac’s dresser for support. “I really am sorry. About all of this.”

Courfeyrac just shrugged. “Whatever. Just go, will you? Jehan and I were in the middle of something.”

Grantaire opened his mouth as if to say something, but then just shrugged, leaving and closing the door after him as he did. Jehan nudged Courfeyrac gently. “Are you ok?”

Smiling at him slightly, Courfeyrac shrugged again. “I am as fine as I can be, I guess.” He kissed Jehan once more. “Besides, I have you, so how badly off could I possibly be?”

* * *

 

Grantaire’s grip on the chair in the doctor’s office was so tight that his knuckles were white, and when the doctor finally stepped in and offered him a warm smile, Grantaire didn’t return it, though he did shake the doctor’s hand after a long moment. “Hi Grantaire, I’m Dr. Joly,” the doctor said in a calm, almost soothing voice.

He sat down across from Grantaire, pulling out a pad of paper from his desk and writing something across the top of it. “I know you’ve been to a lot of different doctors before, and I know that they’ve all promised to help. Well, I want to be able to help, but it’s going to take time, and effort on your part.”

“Effort?” Grantaire asked shortly, eyes narrowed as he looked carefully at Dr. Joly. “What do you mean by effort?”

Joly leaned forward, his gaze thoughtful and his voice calm. “There are only so many things that drug therapy can accomplish. You have to  _want_  to change, to make up your mind that getting better is the best thing for you moving forward. If you don’t, no drug in the world is going to completely cure you.” He paused as if waiting for Grantaire to say something, then sat back, tapping his pen on the notepad. “Why don’t you start by telling me about your boyfriend?”

Grantaire’s hands twisted in his lap and he looked down. “You want me to tell you about Combeferre?”

“You can tell me about him.” Joly’s voice was still calm, though there was an odd edge in it. “Or you can tell me about your other boyfriend.”

Grantaire’s hands stilled. “Oh,” he said, his voice small. “What…what do you want to know about him?”

Joly marked something down on the notepad. “Whatever you want to tell me. He was a political activist, right? Working towards his law degree?” Grantaire nodded, but didn’t speak. “Would he have graduated by now?”

“Yeah.” There was something wistful to his voice as he looked up. “Yeah, he would have graduated by now. Passed the bar and everything.” He smiled slightly. “Probably would have had offers to work for all the biggest law firms, but he would have turned them all down. He was like that. He doesn’t care about money. He only cares about helping people.”

If Joly noticed Grantaire slipping into the present tense, he didn’t say anything, though his pen moved across the paper as he nodded at Grantaire to continue. “He goes to all these protests and rallies. I’m always convinced he’s going to get himself killed, or, you know, arrested or something, but he takes care of himself pretty well. He’s gonna change the world.”

Joly nodded again, almost sympathetically, and he set his pen down for a moment, frowning at his notes. “If he wants to change the world, do you really think that here is the best place for him to do that? Shouldn’t he be moving to Washington or New York? One of the bigger cities where he’ll have more impact?”

Grantaire had gone very still again, paling at Joly’s words and implications. “I mean, I guess that would make sense…”

“Then why do you think he stays? Why do you think he’s still around here, when he could be doing so much more elsewhere?” When Grantaire didn’t respond, Joly pushed gently, “Do you think he stays because of you?”

Grantaire’s eyes flashed up to his, and he jerked his head in what may have been a nod. “He always does this,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “He…I don’t know why he ever even dated me in the first place. He was…he  _is_  way too good for me. He’s gorgeous and has these  _beliefs_ , and just…He shouldn’t be with a guy like me. Not when he could have anyone he wanted. And I know, I  _know_ , I’ve always held him back, stopped him from reaching his potential. I know that.”

“That’s not true.”

It was Enjolras’s voice that spoke now, cutting through the room as sharp as a knife, and Enjolras crossed from where he had been lurking in the shadows to kneel in front of Grantaire, placing a warm hand on his knee. “That’s so not true, Grantaire. You’re the best part of me, so don’t say that about yourself.”

Shaking his head, Grantaire reached down to lace his fingers with Enjolras’s. “I don’t…I don’t deserve…”

“Shh,” Enjolras whispered soothingly. “Don’t say that.”

Joly, of course, was oblivious to what had just taken place, and he leaned forward, intent now on getting to the root of what he thought might be keeping Enjolras around in Grantaire’s mind. “What if you let him go? What if you broke up with him, because you know he would be better off without you, moving on the way you want him to?”

Grantaire met Enjolras’s eyes unflinchingly, and in a quiet voice, he asked, “Why would I need to break up with him when he’s dead?”

Enjolras just half-smiled. “I’m not dead,” he told Grantaire, squeezing his knee. “I’m right here. Very much alive. And you and I…we’re going to get through this together, just like we always do.”

Sighing, Joly marked something on his paper. “I think that you should give it some thought. Think about maybe trying to help him move on. It could be the best thing for both of you. That’s what happens a lot of the time when people graduate, right? They move away, they get jobs. They grow up. Don’t you want him to have that opportunity as well?”

Grantaire looked down at Enjolras, who was still grinning up at him with that special smile he always reserved just for Grantaire and no one else. “Sure,” Grantaire said in a quiet voice, hoping the lie wasn’t too clear. “I’ll think about it.”

* * *

 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Combeferre asked quietly, gripping Grantaire’s hand, their fingers laced together. “You haven’t been in his room since…well…since you know.”

“Our room.” Grantaire’s voice was quiet but determined. “He and I shared it, and I don’t think it’s healthy for me to ignore that or pretend that it didn’t happen. Besides, Dr. Joly thinks it might be a good idea, a way to…to help me get closure. Or something.” He squeezed Combeferre’s hand before releasing it and stepping towards the closed door. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

Combeferre watched him go with a troubled look on his face, but once Grantaire had slipped inside the bedroom, he just shrugged and turned away to head back to the bedroom that he now shared with Grantaire.

Grantaire took a deep breath as he glanced around the room, completely flooded with memories. Everything was exactly as they had left it, as if he would just wander back in, throw himself on the bed, wrap himself in the blanket as he waited.

Unbidden, he crossed the room to the dresser, lifting the framed photo that sat on top of it down, running light fingers over the glass. It was a picture of the two of them, standing together, his arm around Enjolras’s waist, Enjolras’s arm over his shoulder. They were dressed to the nines, the first and only time Grantaire had worn a tuxedo that expensive.

It had been for Cosette and Marius’s wedding, and Grantaire couldn’t help but smile at the memory of that night, the fun they had all had with their friends, celebrating. He felt Enjolras’s hand run across his shoulder and down his arm, touching his gently against the frame. “That was a good night.”

Grantaire smiled wistfully. “One of the best nights of my life.” He glanced up at Enjolras, who was looking at him patiently. “That was the first night I told you that I loved you.”

Enjolras smiled as well, a little sadly. “That was the first night I ever thought about what it would be like to be married to you.”

Swallowing, Grantaire looked down at the picture before setting it back on top of the dresser. “You know, you lied to me that night,” he said, struggling to keep his voice light.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow and reached out to tilt Grantaire’s chin up so that he was looking at him. “Oh really? How so?”

“You promised me you would dance with me. Just once. But you never did. We left before we could dance together.”

“Is that so?” Enjolras asked softly, though he was starting to smile slightly. “Well, I’m here now, aren’t I? We can always dance right here, you and I.”

Grantaire grinned at him. “I’d like that. A lot.” He accepted Enjolras’s extended hand, and allowed himself to be pulled into a loose embrace, his hand on Enjolras’s shoulder, Enjolras’s warm against his lower back.

Enjolras leaned in and kissed him. “You’re going to have to lead, though. I’m a little rusty at dancing.”

Grantaire chuckled lightly, beginning to move them both in a slow motion, more rocking back and forth together than actually dancing, though neither seemed to mind. “It’s fine,” he teased, grinning up at Enjolras. “I’m used to topping from the bottom anyway.”

Shaking his head, Enjolras leaned in to kiss him again. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but you love me.”

They lapsed into silence after that, still moving slowly to a song that no one but them could have heard. Grantaire sighed, leaning into Enjolras and resting his head against Enjolras’s chest as they moved. “This is perfection, right here. Everything I’ve ever wanted in one moment. I wish we could do this forever.”

“We could, you know,” Enjolras said, his voice suddenly serious, and Grantaire pulled away slightly to look up at him. “We could dance forever, just you and I. You could come away with me.”

Grantaire pulled away even further, releasing Enjolras from his embrace, though their hands still remained linked. “I…I don’t know…”

Enjolras squeezed his hand, his eyes bright, looking at Grantaire as if he was the only thing in his entire world. “Come with me. We can be free.”

Grantaire swallowed, hard, and nodded wordlessly, allowing Enjolras to tug him along, their hands never separating.

* * *

 

Joly sighed heavily, marking something on the hospital intake form and commenting out loud for the sake of the recorder. “Grantaire discovered unconscious at home. Multiple razor wounds to the wrists and forearms. Self-inflicted.”

His voice broke and he closed his eyes for a brief moment before continuing. “Sutures, gauze, antibiotics. Patient is sedated and restrained. God _damnit_. ECT is indicated as the next course of action.”

* * *

 

Combeferre knocked on Courfeyrac’s door. “Hey,” he said, once he had poked his head in. “I just got back from the hospital. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be kept in the loop or not on what was going on with Grantaire.”

Courfeyrac shrugged, staring moodily up at the ceiling. “Whatever. If you want to tell me, tell me.”

“They’re going to try electroconvulsive therapy.”

Courfeyrac sat up, glaring at Combeferre. “They’re  _what_?” he snapped, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “And you’re going to  _let_  them? Let them do that to Grantaire? That’s fucked up, Ferre!”

“It’s the best thing for him,” Combeferre said, in a tone that showed he had already had the same internal argument. “They think that this might be the only thing that can help him now.”

Shaking his head, Courfeyrac stood, running a hand through his hair. “Whatever,” he muttered, grabbing his backpack. “If you want to do that Grantaire, fine. Whatever. I just don’t want any part of it.” He brushed past Combeferre, calling over his shoulder, “I’m going to Jehan’s.”

Combeferre took a deep, steadying breath and closed his eyes for a long moment. Then he left Courfeyrac’s room, crossing instead to the bathroom, which hadn’t been touched since Grantaire…

He pushed the door open, trying to steel himself against the sight. He had already seen it when he had found Grantaire in the bath, slowly bleeding to death, but now, without the panic coursing through his system, the sight of that much blood was almost enough to make him sick.

Swallowing hard, he grabbed the bleach from under the sink and got a rag, setting out on the task of making it so that it had never happened, undoing the damage that Grantaire had done. There was nothing he could do to help Grantaire, no way to make him whole. He just had this, a bathroom to clean and sterilize.

He didn’t know when exactly he started crying, but soon, he was barely able to see what he was doing through his tears. He didn’t want to lose Grantaire. He  _couldn’t_  lose Grantaire. They had already lost so much, but there wasn’t a world that Combeferre could imagine with Grantaire at his side.

Or at least, there wasn’t a world he wanted to see without Grantaire at his side.

He let the rag fall from his hands and buried his face in his hands, sobbing brokenly. He wondered if he was trying to kill himself just as surely as Grantaire was.

* * *

 

“No!” Grantaire snapped, glaring at Joly, who was pinching the bridge of his nose and looking exasperated. “I’m not going to volunteer to let you send an electric current through my body in the hopes that it will somehow cure me! I’m not Randle McMurphy, and you’re sure as hell no Nurse Ratched. I won’t do it.”

Joly held up a placating hand. “Please, Grantaire. This may be the only option if you truly want to get better. You have to give it some thought.”

Grantaire just shook his head stubbornly, and Joly was about to make another plea when Combeferre touched his arm gently. “Can I talk to him? Please?”

Joly frowned, but nodded in acquiescence. “I’ll step outside and give you a few moments.”

Combeferre sat down next to Grantaire, taking his hand in his and stroking his thumb across Grantaire’s knuckles. “Hey,” he said, his voice soft. “How are you feeling?”

Grantaire just shrugged, though he didn’t try and pull his hand away from Combeferre’s. “I assume you’ve been told about the asinine treatment they’re trying to put me on?” he asked, avoiding the question of how he felt. “I mean, can you believe it? Electroshock? What century are we living in?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Combeferre’s voice was steady, but with an edge that suggested it might lose that steadiness at any moment. “This may be our last chance, R. If you don’t do this therapy, then what? More drugs, another suicide attempt? One that I may not be able to save you from?” Tears threatened to spill from his eyes and he ducked his head and took a deep breath. “I can’t lose you. I can’t. So please, for me. Consider it.”

Grantaire took a ragged breath and reached out to pull Combeferre as close to him as he could, ignoring the pain that burned through his arms as he did. “I don’t want to leave you,” he told him, burying his face in the crook of Combeferre’s neck. “I love you.”

“Then please. Come back to me. Do this for me. Please.” Combeferre was crying now, his hands shaking as they stroked Grantaire’s hair gently. “There is always hope. There’s always a light in the dark, waiting for you to come home to me. Please.”

They stayed that way for a long moment before Grantaire said softly, “Ok. Then I’ll try. It can’t make things worse, right?”

Combeferre kissed him then, a gentle, warm kiss, keeping their fingers laced together. “We can get through this,” he promised. “We  _will_  get through this. And you will come home to me.”

Grantaire nodded, still holding him close, and tried to ignore the knot of feelings curled deep in his stomach, the kind that told him this was absolutely the wrong thing to do. He would do this for Combeferre, because he loved Combeferre, and he owed it to him to try. Whatever the consequences might be.


	3. Aftershocks

“Grantaire’s first treatment was today.”

Those were the first words Combeferre said to Courfeyrac when he came into the house, and it took all of Courfeyrac’s effort not to slam the door behind him as he walked in. “Oh really?” Courfeyrac asked, his voice curt.

He and Combeferre had barely spoken since Combeferre had convinced Grantaire to get ECT. Courfeyrac still couldn’t believe it, that his best friend would be so desperate to get rid of the memory of their other best friend that he would resort to something like that, especially with Grantaire as fragile as he was. Something in Combeferre’s eyes flicked and he looked down at the table. “The doctor said it went really well, that his body seemed to respond to it well.”

“I really don’t care.” Courfeyrac almost didn’t mean for the words to slip out, but really, at this point, there seemed to be little reason to hide how he was feeling.

Combeferre looked up at him sharply. “He’s still your friend.”

“ _Grantaire_  is,” Courfeyrac agreed, leaving the statement ‘ _you’re_  not’ left hanging between them. “Look, I’m glad it went well. I hope he gets better. How many weeks does this go on for?”

Frowning slightly, Combeferre told him stiffly, “He’ll get three treatments a week for four weeks.”

Courfeyrac headed towards the stairs. “Excellent. Then I’ll talk to you, and him, when those four weeks are over. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

He didn’t even bother giving an excuse, just thundering up the stairs and heading straight for the bathroom, where he gripped the sides of the sink and felt like he was going to be sick. To be casually discussing one of his best friends being shocked over and over with an electrical current…

He turned on the tap and splashed some cold water on his face, unable to somehow shake the mental image of Grantaire seizing on a bed as some nurse stood watch. His eyes landed on the rows of prescription pill bottles that still lined the counter. He picked one up, hefted it in his hand as he glanced at the name of the pill and the side effects. “Why the fuck not?” he wondered out loud, unscrewing the top and taking some pills, swallowing them dry as he stared at himself in the mirror. It may not be pot like Jehan had wanted him to smoke, but it would probably get the job done just the same.

Courfeyrac just didn’t want to be himself anymore, and this seemed as good a way as any to start.

* * *

 

Combeferre sat across from Dr. Joly, who smiled at him. “I’m sure you’ll be glad to take Grantaire home today. His treatments have gone very well.”

Nodding, Combeferre told him, “That’s good to hear, and yes, I am very glad to be bringing Grantaire home. But I’m sure you called me here for some reason…?”

Combeferre trailed off, and Dr. Joly nodded, leaning forward in his seat. “Some memory loss is to be expected with ECT, and Grantaire is, unfortunately, no exception,” Joly told Combeferre, though his brow was furrowed.

“I understand that,” Combeferre said, trying not to snap at the doctor who was, after all, just trying to do his job. “But how much memory loss are we talking here? Does he remember anything that happened with…”

Even now he couldn’t bring himself to say the name, to name the specter that had haunted his entire life with Grantaire. Joly shook his head. “No. But he doesn’t remember much else either. From what we’ve been able to gather, his memories end around the beginning of college. I don’t know if you two had met by then…”

He trailed off, a question in his tone, and Combeferre shook his head slowly, feeling a pit in his stomach. “No,” he whispered, looking down at the doctor’s desk and swallowing hard. “No, we hadn’t met then. He hadn’t met any of us at that point.”

Joly cleared his throat and began gathering papers together, slipping them back into Grantaire’s file. “The good news is, the treatment appears to be working well. Grantaire’s had no delusional episodes since treatment ended, and he said that everything seems clearer, so provided that things continue as well as they did, it looks like we can call this one a success. I look forward to seeing Grantaire for continued therapy.”

Standing, he offered Combeferre his hand, but Combeferre stood slowly without taking it. “But what about his memory?” he asked. “When will he start to remember things? I mean, the memories aren’t permanently gone, are they?”

Joly shook his head. “Most likely not. ECT basically resets the brain in a lot of ways. The memories are still there; they’re just repressed. With time, with familiar items and familiar people, they’ll start resurfacing. We don’t know how long it will take, or what memories will surface first. It varies from patient to patient. Try showing him mementos and familiar items, anything that could help remind him of who he is, of your life together.”

“Right,” Combeferre said blankly, shaking Joly’s hand though his mind was miles away. “Our life together.”

Numbly, he followed Dr. Joly to Grantaire’s room, where Grantaire was dressed and sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, looking up at them as they entered. “Grantaire, this is Combeferre,” Joly told him, standing back to let Combeferre into the room. “I know you probably don’t remember him, but he’s your boyfriend, and he’s here to take you home. I’ll give you two a few moments.”

He stepped outside and left Combeferre and Grantaire together. Combeferre bit his lip as he looked almost shyly at Grantaire, crossing over to him slowly. “Hey,” he said, trying to keep his voice light.

“Hey,” Grantaire returned, smiling up at Combeferre. He reached out and took Combeferre’s hand, running his fingers over Combeferre’s skin as if trying to memorize the feel of it. “I knew we were dating, before Dr. Joly told me.”

“You remember that?” Combeferre asked, a little breathlessly, daring, just for a moment, to hope.

The smile faltered slightly on Grantaire’s face, and he shook his head as he told Combeferre, “No. I don’t remember much of anything. But this…it’s not a memory. It’s a feeling. Like, when I look at you, I feel happy. I feel loved. I look at you, and I’m home.”

Combeferre laughed slightly, smiling down at Grantaire. “Finding Nemo?” he asked.

Grantaire frowned at him. “Finding who?” At Combeferre’s answering frown, Grantaire laughed slightly, though he also looked briefly guilty. “I’m sorry. That was mean of me. I remember the film. It came out before the…before the nothingness. And the quote seemed appropriate, right?”

Smiling tentatively, Combeferre squeezed Grantaire’s hand. “Absolutely.”

“Besides,” Grantaire told him, lacing their fingers together. “It is true. You are my home. And I would know that even if I couldn’t remember anything else, which conveniently enough for you, I can’t.”

Combeferre bent to pull Grantaire into his arms, smiling against the crook of Grantaire’s neck when Grantaire’s arms tightened around him as well. “It’s ok that you can’t remember right now,” he told him softly. “We’ll get through this and you will remember in time. I promise.”

* * *

 

Courfeyrac stood awkwardly next to the kitchen table as Combeferre led Grantaire into the kitchen table, holding his hand as if he was afraid of letting Grantaire go. “This is Courfeyrac,” Combeferre told him in an undertone, smiling from Grantaire to Courfeyrac as they walked over to where Courfeyrac stood. “He’s one of your best friends, and he lives here with us.”

“He lives with us?” Grantaire asked, confused. “I thought it was just you and me. Why does he live his friend and his boyfriend? Isn’t that a little weird?”

The smile on Courfeyrac’s face became decidedly more forced, and he told Grantaire, “I was living here before you were. Combeferre and I, we shared this house with—”

“With some of our other friends,” Combeferre interjected smoothly. “They moved out once they were done with school, and you, of course, moved in with me.”

Courfeyrac narrowed his eyes at Combeferre. “Right. You moved in here with your boyfriend.” He didn’t mention that Combeferre hadn’t been the boyfriend Grantaire had moved in with, but he made a mental note that Combeferre was apparently avoiding any mention of the entire goddamn reason why they were here. “I’ll take it you don’t remember me.”

Grantaire smiled apologetically at him as he shook his hand. “I don’t remember much of anything, I’m afraid. But I’m sure I’ll remember everything in time. Combeferre said that he has a plan to help me get my memories back.”

Combeferre pulled Courfeyrac aside, his grip on Courfeyrac’s arm almost painfully tight. “The doctor said we need to expose him to mementos and things that will help him remember who he is,” he told Courfeyrac softly.

Courfeyrac shook his arm out of Combeferre’s grip. “So show him some pictures from before or something. Why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t…” Combeferre broke off, looking frustrated. “I don’t know if I have anything that doesn’t also involve…you know.”

Shaking his head, Courfeyrac laughed dryly. “You mean you don’t have a single picture or anything that doesn’t involve his dead boyfriend,  _your_  dead best friend?

Combeferre shook his head as well, his tone cutting as he replied, “Of course I do! But not enough. Most of our relationship…the beginning of our relationship, at least…it was all predicated on him. From us mourning together and then getting together…anything I have from that era will take explanation, explanations that I have no intention of giving right now, which is why I’m hoping you might have something.”

“So you just don’t plan on telling him?” Courfeyrac’s voice was razor sharp, and it was his turn to grab Combeferre’s arm, his grip even more painful. “You don’t plan on telling him about the dead love of his life, about all that he went through, about seeing him haunt our house and your life together? What, do you think if you don’t tell him he magically won’t remember it? Because that won’t work, Ferre! And that may be the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard in my life!”

“The doctor said he’s made a lot of progress,” Combeferre told him plainly, his tone raw and honest. “And yeah, I think telling him what happened right now will hinder more than help that progress. I want him to get comfortable and to keep making progress before I reintroduce what may have been the most traumatic thing that any of us have gone through, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing to want.”

Courfeyrac stared at him for a long moment, then jerked a shrug, pulling away. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll look through my things and see what I can find.” He turned back to Grantaire, who had watched this entire conversation with a bemused expression on his face. “Here,” Courfeyrac told Grantaire, grabbing one of his law textbooks from his bag and all but slamming it down on the kitchen table. “Read this. You used to have a thing for law students.”

And then he was gone, disappearing upstairs and leaving a very confused Grantaire and a very pissed off Combeferre in his wake. “I used to have a thing for law students?” Grantaire repeated, his fingers resting lightly on the cover of the textbook. “Dare I ask what he was talking about?”

Combeferre took a deep breath before smiling at Grantaire, crossing to him and putting his arms around Grantaire’s waist. “It’s…sort of an inside joke that I suppose you don’t get anymore. And I’m sorry for that, and for Courfeyrac’s attitude. He…he hasn’t taken this whole thing well, and none of it is your fault, I promise, but…Courfeyrac…well, he’s  _Courf_ , and he’s just like this sometimes.”

“I wish I could remember,” Grantaire told him, honest and frustrated, his hands bunching in the back of Combeferre’s shirt. “I just want to remember everything so that I can get better and never put either of you two through what I must have done before.”

Combeferre kissed him then, a gentle, sweet kiss, the kind that they hadn’t shared in months. “The important thing is that you get better,” he said softly, running his hand through Grantaire’s curls to rest possessively on the back of his skull. “Once you get better, then we can worry about getting the memories back. For now, I want you to take it easy, ok?”

Grantaire kissed him as well, a quick, darting peck to the corner of his mouth, as if he was worried that he shouldn’t be doing this. “Ok,” he said. “Just so long as taking it easy means being with you.”

“Of course,” Combeferre told him, taking his hand. “It always does.”

* * *

 

“Hey.”

The word was soft, almost hesitant, and Courfeyrac looked up from his textbook to blink blearily at Jehan, who was leaning against the wall of the study carrel, looking at him concernedly. “Hey,” Courfeyrac grunted, rubbing a hand across his eyes. “How are you?”

Jehan took this as permission to stay and thus sat across from Courfeyrac, still looking worried. “ _I’m_  fine,” he told Courfeyrac solemnly. “I’m more concerned about you. I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

Courfeyrac sighed and looked down at his book, at the same paragraph that he had read seven or eight times now. “I’m fine,” he told Jehan firmly, hoping that Jehan would believe it. “There’s just been some…stress at the house, for lack of a better word. But I’m handling it. And I’m sorry you haven’t seen me.”

“How exactly have you been handling it? Because you look pretty fucking rough, Courf.”

Flushing at Jehan’s words, Courfeyrac closed his textbook with a snap. “Odd words coming from a fucking pothead,” he snapped, unable to control the sudden anger that seemed to well up inside of him. “Why don’t you just mind your own fucking business?”

Jehan held his hands up, looking equal parts surprised and saddened. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, his tone placating. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry. You just look like you haven’t been sleeping well, and…I don’t know, I wanted to make sure you were ok. Since it’s not like you’ve called me lately.”

“I’m fine.” Courfeyrac’s tone was terse, but Jehan nodded as if he hadn’t noticed.

“Well in that case, if you’re fine, I wanted to invite you to a poetry reading that I’m doing. I know it’s stupid, but…I really want you to be there. Since you  _are_  my boyfriend, right?” He paused as if waiting for Courfeyrac to respond, then sighed and pulled a flyer out from his bag, sliding it over to Courfeyrac. “It’s March 1st, and there’s no cover. I would really,  _really_ appreciate it if you came, alright?”

Courfeyrac took the flyer and tucked it in his bag without looking at it. “Fine. Whatever. See you later Jehan.”

Jehan stood, blinking rapidly as if blinking back tears. “Sure. Great. I’ll see you around, Courf.”

He left Courfeyrac alone with a book that he needed to read but couldn’t and bottle full of pills burning a hole in the bottom of his bag. “Fuck,” Courfeyrac said before putting his head down against the table.

* * *

 

Grantaire smiled up at Combeferre as Combeferre set a steaming mug of tea in front of him, but there was something off about the smile, and Combeferre sat down across from him, frowning slightly. “Is everything alright?” he asked.

“Everything’s fine,” Grantaire told him, though he traced the rim of his mug with his fingertip before saying softly, “Tell me again how we met, how we got together. Please.”

Combeferre froze for just a moment before reaching out to take Grantaire’s hand. “We had a lot of mutual friends and acquaintances,” he said carefully, rubbing his thumb over Grantaire’s knuckles. “And we…well, we knew each other of course, but not very well. Until…”

Grantaire looked up at him. “Until what?”

“Until one day you smiled at me and I swear to God, we were the only people in this entire town,” Combeferre told him honestly. “And it was one of those things where I couldn’t believe I never thought of it before, because once I did, once I saw you like that, I just knew. And it’s been that way ever since.”

Nodding slowly, Grantaire asked, “Was it that way for me, too? Did I fall in love with you that quickly?”

Combeferre smiled at him, something sad lingering in his smile, just out of reach. “You were always a hard one to tell with,” he said honestly. “But I’d like to think that you did.”

Grantaire smiled as well, and leaned in to kiss him, though when he pulled back, there was something dark on his face. “I feel like there’s something more,” he said slowly. “Something that I’m a missing, a memory that I can’t…I can’t seem to recall. Something with you, and with me, and if I could just remember it, I feel like everything will make sense again.”

“Why don’t we look at more pictures?” Combeferre said quickly, grabbing another box of things Courfeyrac had thrown together. “Maybe something in here will jog your memory.”

The first thing Grantaire pulled out of the box was a framed photo of him wearing a tux and laughing, his arm thrown around some blond that he didn’t recognize. “Who’s that?” he asked, staring at the photo for a long moment before Combeferre suddenly pulled it out of his hands, looking distressed.

“That’s, uh, that’s nobody. Cosette’s cousin. You met him at Cosette and Marius’s wedding.”

Combeferre stashed the frame back in the box and Grantaire frowned at him. “We seemed awfully close for some cousin that I had never met.”

Waving a dismissive hand, Combeferre began sorting through the box for something else —  _anything_  else — to show him. “Well, you  _were_  pretty drunk that night, so I’m pretty sure you were close with everyone.”

The doorbell rang and Combeferre used the opportunity to escape from the situation, telling Grantaire, “Just a minute.” He went to the door and opened it, surprised to see Jehan standing there. “Jehan! Long time, no see. Come on in.”

Jehan followed him into the kitchen, smiling at Grantaire, who just stared at him. “Sorry to disturb you guys. I was looking for Courfeyrac. Have you seen him?”

“Last I heard, he had a meeting with a professor on campus,” Combeferre told him with a frown. “Sorry that you came all this way for nothing…”

Flashing him a quick smile, Jehan said, “No problem—”

“Do I know you?” Grantaire interrupted, half-standing from his seat, still staring at Jehan.

Combeferre glanced from Jehan to Grantaire and told him quickly, “This is Jehan. He’s dating Courfeyrac.”

Grantaire shook his head, his forehead wrinkling. “No…no. Not you. Someone…someone like you? Someone with blond hair and…your age?” He looked over at Combeferre, still frowning. “There was someone else, wasn’t there? Another friend, maybe?” He glanced back at Jehan. “He reminds me of him. Kind of. Maybe? I can’t tell.”

Combeferre glanced at Jehan, who shrugged and told him quickly, “I’ll see myself out.”

Turning back to Grantaire, Combeferre knelt in front of him, taking both of his hands in his. “There was no one else, Grantaire,” he said softly. “I think maybe you’re just thinking of Jehan, and maybe the memories are confused. Or, hey, maybe you had a friend who looked like Jehan from before I met you. I don’t know. But there isn’t anyone else. I promise you that.”

As Grantaire nodded, the wrinkles in his forehead flattening, Combeferre could almost believe that the lie he told didn’t taste bitter in his mouth, that the gentle kiss Grantaire pressed to his lips made everything worth it.


	4. Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone's who's read!!

"It’s been four weeks,” Grantaire said, his voice soft as he traced idle patterns against the wood of Dr. Joly’s desk. “Four weeks, and you said that it would get better and that I would remember, but I…I’m not remembering like I should.”

Joly frowned, marking something down in Grantaire’s file. “But you’ve been remembering some things, haven’t you?”

Grantaire shrugged. “A few things here and there. Little bits and pieces of memories, but they don’t seem to flow together. I have no full recollection of what happened to me, what got me to this place.” He leaned forward, his tone turning almost desperate. “Besides, I swear there’s something missing, something that Combeferre doesn’t want to talk about, something that must have happened to us or to me, and I don’t know why he wants to hide it, but it’s eating away at me.”

“And you’ve talked to Combeferre about this?” Joly asked. “You’ve asked him directly if there’s something he’s been avoiding discussing?”

Shrugging again, Grantaire made a wry face. “We talk about a lot of things, a lot of memories, but this is one that he dances around, and I don’t know how to get him to trust me enough with this memory.”

Joly nodded slowly, still writing in Grantaire’s file. “But you say that the memories are starting to come back? Are they starting to fit together like the pieces of a puzzle?”

Grantaire stared at him, his expression suddenly angry. “If this is supposed to be a puzzle, then I don’t know where the fucking pieces go.”

Now Joly stopped writing, looking up at Grantaire with something like sympathy on his face. “But you have been talking to Combeferre about this? About your depression?” Grantaire shrugged. “About your delusions?” Grantaire shrugged again, though he looked confused, and Joly elaborated, “About your boyfriend?”

“My boyfriend?” Grantaire repeated, his brow furrowed. “What about my boyfriend?” When Joly didn’t say anything, Grantaire’s frown deepened. “You do mean Combeferre, right?”

Joly glanced up at him, closing his file and setting it down on the desk. “It sounds like you need to talk more with Combeferre,” he said firmly. “There are some things in your past that you both will undoubtedly need to work out, and by doing so, that may help you regain back the memories and the things that you feel are missing.”

Grantaire blinked at him. “So that’s it? That’s your advice? Talk with Combeferre and hope for the best?” Grantaire snorted and stood. “I can’t say for sure, but I have a feeling that I was a cynic before, because that, to me, sounds like a load of bullshit.”

* * *

 

Courfeyrac woke with a start as the phone on the bed next to him buzzed, and it was with bleary eyes and fumbling fingers that he clicked through to read the message. “[From: Jehan] Hey.”

“[To: Jehan] hey”.

He could barely get his fingers to hit the proper keys and he wondered for a moment what exactly he had taken, and when exactly he had taken it, since the days had seemed to all run together recently. Barely a minute passed before his phone buzzed again, and Courfeyrac could practically see the excitement in Jehan’s response. “[From: Jehan] Glad you answered! I know you’ve been distant lately. Hope everything’s ok.”

Courfeyrac had no response to that, so he didn’t bother responding, but of course that was not enough to deter Jehan. “[From: Jehan] Just wanted to remind you that tomorrow is my poetry reading. Are you going to be there?”

“[To: Jehan] dont kno. probs not. wouldnt count on it.”

This time, the gap between texts was far longer, and Courfeyrac almost allowed himself to hope that Jehan had given up. But no, the insistent vibrations from his phone told him otherwise, and he sighed and read, “[From: Jehan] Did I do something wrong? Have I upset you somehow? You know that I’ve been here for you whenever you’ve needed me and I tried giving you space but you just keep denying everything that I do, so tell me, what did I do wrong and what can I do to fix it?”

Courfeyrac closed his eyes, feeling a rush of emotion, the kind that he had been swallowing pills to try and tamp down, rise in his chest, and this time, his hands did not tremble as he texted Jehan back, “[To: Jehan] You remind me of how fucked up my life is.”

The minutes between texts stretched impossibly long, and Courfeyrac turned his phone over and over in his hands, waiting for a text that may never come. But then Jehan texted back. “[From: Jehan] I’ll come by tomorrow. If you’re there, then we can go, and if not, I’ll understand. But let’s try to start over. Please?”

“[To: Jehan] Goodbye.”

* * *

 

Grantaire settled down at the kitchen table, frowning as he pulled the abandoned box that Courfeyrac had gathered for trying to restart his memory toward him. Surely there had to be something in this box that would jog whatever memory it was that his brain just wouldn’t supply for it.

He began digging through the box, setting aside the pictures and mementos that Combeferre had already showed him. They had caused some memories to surface, sure, but not the one that nagged him from the back of his mind, the one that was just out of reach, the one that he couldn’t seem to recall no matter how he tried.

As he sifted through the piles of stuff, he found the picture frame that Combeferre had stuffed back inside the box, and he lifted it up, studying the picture carefully now that he had a proper minute to do so. The smiling face of the blond man seemed almost painfully familiar, and he found himself tracing the man’s features with his finger, those arms that were deceptively strong under that tux jacket, that hair with its perfectly coiffed golden curls, those eyes that lit up whenever Grantaire walked in the room, and those lips…

Those lips that he had kissed hundreds of times.

He stared down at the picture, remembering it, remembering  _something_. A laugh, a kiss against his temple, a voice like a dream telling him, “ _You look handsome tonight_.”

_And Grantaire glanced up, blushing slightly, capturing the man’s lips with his own. “Not nearly as handsome as you,” he murmured, and the blond just laughed, pushing him down against the bed. “Don’t get my tux wrinkled,” Grantaire warned, and the blond rolled his eyes._

_“Relax,” he said in that hauntingly familiar voice with that achingly familiar smile. “You won’t be wearing it for long anyway…”_

Combeferre closed the front door with a snap, and Grantaire sat bolt upright, almost dropping the picture frame in his surprise. “Combeferre,” he gasped, trying not to instantly look guilty, though he could hardly see Combeferre through the images and memories that were suddenly swirling through his mind.

“Grantaire?” Combeferre said quietly, cautiously, crossing over to him. “What are you—” He frozen when he saw the picture frame in Grantaire’s hands, and he had to physically restrain himself from reaching out for it, from grabbing it out of Grantaire’s hands. “I can explain.”

Grantaire looked from the picture frame to Combeferre, his eyes wide. “He…I know him. I  _knew_  him. He was…I loved him. Didn’t I?”

Swallowing hard, Combeferre sank into the chair next to Grantaire, knowing that this was his worst nightmare come to life. “Don’t do this,” he pleaded, softly, knowing that if Grantaire followed this through to its logical conclusion, that it would only end up breaking them more than they already were. “Please, Grantaire. You shouldn’t do this…”

“I  _loved_  him.” Grantaire repeated the words again, starkly, firmly, almost as if challenging Combeferre to refute them. “And he loved me. We dated. He and I, we were together.” He looked around, his brow furrowed. “We lived here. Together. Didn’t we?”

Combeferre just shook his head, repeating, “Please, Grantaire,” under his breath as if it might get through to Grantaire, who was already lost to memories.

_The blond rolling over in bed, pressing a kiss to Grantaire’s forehead, smiling when Grantaire groaned and batted him away._

_Both of them sitting on the couch, wrapped in each other, trading kisses and completely ignoring the movie that played in the background._

_Fights and yelling and screaming and slamming doors all meshed with tangled limbs and desperate kisses, fierce whispers of apology and love._

_And…him. Just him. Him naked and him wrapped in blankets and him propped up on his elbow to smile at Grantaire and the two of them dancing together…_

And then he remember him still, and shaking, and cold, and Grantaire’s eyes flashed up to Combeferre’s. “I…I remember. He…we…you drove us to the hospital. He and I were in the back, and he was…he was shaking. And he was so cold.”

“Grantaire.” Combeferre didn’t try and plead this time; instead, an edge of command lined his tone. “This isn’t going to help you. Don’t…”

“We carried him inside,” Grantaire continued, ignoring what Combeferre was saying. “He was so light, he had lost so much weight. Why didn’t we know something was wrong sooner? Why didn’t we do something? They…they took him away from me. They took him away and…”

He broke off, staring at Combeferre, who just closed his eyes and shook his head sadly. “It won’t help.”

“I  _loved_ him,” Grantaire said. “I loved him but the doctor came out from the back and he said…he said…they said that he died.”

The words were quiet, defeated, and neither man spoke for a long time until Grantaire asked softly, “How could I forget that?”

Combeferre shrugged. “Because you couldn’t stand to remember it,” he said, his voice equally soft. “Because we watched as it tore you apart and I don’t think your brain could stand to go through that again.”

Grantaire nodded. “How did he die?” he asked suddenly. “What…what happened?”

“He was sick,” Combeferre told him simply. “He was sick and we didn’t know it. I don’t know if he knew it until it was too late, but he was sick and by the time we got him to the hospital, there was nothing anyone could have done. Nothing you or I could have done.”

“And you and I…” Grantaire started, unable to continue with the question, even as Combeferre reached out to grab his hand.

He rubbed his thumb over Grantaire’s knuckles. “You were…you were a mess afterwards. And I was, too. He…he was my best friend. And so we…we grieved together. And we moved on together. I got through my grief because…Well, because I fell in love with you.”

The words were simple, but the emotion behind them was too much for Grantaire, who closed his eyes briefly, slowly pulling his hand away from Combeferre, who looked pained for a brief moment. “I don’t understand,” Grantaire said finally, and Combeferre closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable questions —  _how could I date you when I was in love with him? When I’m still in love with him? Did I ever even love you in the first place?_ — but instead, Grantaire said, “You said that we started dating after he died, right? So we weren’t dating at all while he and I were still dating?”

Combeferre frowned, surprised by the question. “No, we didn’t start dating until long after he died. You would never have cheated on him, and I…I don’t know if I even saw that way until…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to.

“But then why do I remember him here in the house with us while you and I were together?” Grantaire asked, sounding almost frustrated.

Combeferre cleared his throat. “We should call Dr. Joly. This is something major that’s happened and he’s going to need to discuss where we go from here with this.”

Grantaire waved a dismissive hand, his face darkening. “I don’t want to call Dr. Joly! I want to remember! I want to remember  _everything_. I want to try and make sense of what happened to him and what happened to me, and what happened to  _us_.” He broke off, rubbing a hand over his face as he looked down at the picture frame sitting on the table in front of him. “God, I don’t even remember his name. How could I forget that? How could I forget his name?” He glanced at Combeferre, who was pointedly not looking at him. “What was his name?”

Shaking his head, Combeferre pulled out his phone. “We’ll get you back in to the doctor,” he told an increasingly frustrated Grantaire. “We’ll talk about your options, whether it’s more ECT or more pills or something. We’ll figure this out, and everything will be fine.”

“Combeferre.” Grantaire voice was soft, but sharp, cutting across the words that Combeferre spoke. “What was his name?” Though Combeferre stopped talking, he also didn’t answer Grantaire’s question, and Grantaire repeated, “The love of my life, the man that I loved,  _your_  best friend —  _what_  was his  _name_?”

When Combeferre still didn’t respond, Grantaire became desperate, grabbing the picture frame off the table and waving it almost wildly as he asked, increasingly hysterical, “Damnit, Ferre, what was his name? What was his name?!”

Something dark flashed across Combeferre’s face and he grabbed the picture frame from Grantaire’s hand and threw it against the ground, ignoring the way the glass shattered everywhere, ignoring the way that Grantaire gasped.

“Jesus, Combeferre!” Courfeyrac said from the doorway, and both Combeferre and Grantaire swiveled to stare at him, and Jehan just over his shoulder. Courfeyrac didn’t wait to hear Combeferre’s response, instead thundering up the stairs, Jehan following after him.

Grantaire was still staring down at the shattered remnants of the picture frame, the photo itself twisted in the wreckage. Then he looked up at Combeferre, his eyes hard. “Why stay?” he asked harshly, though tears threatened in his voice and in his eyes. “Why would you stay with me all that time? Why wouldn’t you leave, and make a new life for yourself? Why the fuck would you stay with me?”

Upstairs, Courfeyrac asked much the same question. “You see what they’re like!” he said, almost exploded, running a shaking hand through his hair. “That’s what I’ve been dealing with. That’s what I’ve had as my only real source of friendship for the past five years. Why would you stay, knowing that that’s my life? Why would you put yourself through that? Why would you take all the abuse and neglect and everything else I’ve shown you? Why would you let me ignore you and still come back for more? Why?”

“Because I promised you I’d never leave you,” Combeferre said downstairs, taking Grantaire hand in his again, kneeling down before him, his expression serious. “Because I made a promise that I would never put you through what losing him put you through. Because you were and you are the most brilliant man that I had ever met and because I wanted you so badly. Because the reasons don’t matter so long as I have you.”

Jehan reached out to Courfeyrac, pulling him close, cupping his cheek and running his thumb over his cheekbone as he kissed him lightly. “Because I love you,” he said softly. “And because when you’re in love, the rest of it doesn’t matter.”

Combeferre pulled Grantaire out of his chair, putting his arms around him properly for what felt like the first time in weeks, and promised as fervently as he could, “I promised I would never leave you, and I mean it now just as much as I did then. I stayed because I promised I would stay, and I promise now that I will still stay.”

Grantaire looked up at him for a long moment before closing the space between them and kissing him, curling his hand into Combeferre’s hair and kissing him as if he needed him as desperately as he needed air to breathe. Combeferre kissed him back just as fiercely, pulling him close, his arms snaking around his waist. “I love you,” he told Grantaire.

Suddenly, Grantaire heard the sharp sound of applause, and turned to see the blond from his memories smirking at him as he clapped. “Bravo,” the blond said, smiling widely. “Such a good act from Combeferre. Even I was almost convinced. But there’s only one person who has ever loved you, Grantaire, and that’s me.”

Grantaire’s eyes were wide, and he pulled away from Combeferre, shaking his head with something close to panic rising in his chest. “No,” Grantaire whispered, still staring at the blond apparition. “No!”

Combeferre frowned. “Grantaire, what—?”

“No!” Grantaire said again, almost shouting. “No. You’re  _dead_ , you  _died_ , leave me alone!”

Instantly Combeferre understood, and he made as if to embrace Grantaire again, to try and calm him down, but Grantaire pushed Combeferre away and all but ran to the door, trying to keep from hyperventilating at the sound of laughter that followed him, at the sight of his dead boyfriend standing there watching him.

He had to get to the doctor’s office.

* * *

 

“Relapse is very common, Grantaire,” Dr. Joly told him, his voice soothing, though there was a troubled edge to it. “It’s upsetting that the delusional episodes have returned, but not entirely unexpected. It does mean that we need to reconsider our options, to think about doing another round of ECT.”

Grantaire frowned at him. “First I was told there was a chemical imbalance that caused most of my problems,” he told Joly, his voice rough, still shaken up over the delusion. “And I was put on drugs trying to correct that imbalance. But then I was told that it wasn’t so much chemistry as incorrect wiring, and that ECT would help that, would make my mind sort things out for itself. What now? Another course of ECT only to figure out that it’s not helping either?”

Joly shook his head and sighed. “The effects of ECT often fade with time and additional treatments are almost always necessary, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t working. It gave you your life back, didn’t it?”

“If that was my life, I’m not so sure I wanted it back,” Grantaire muttered. “Besides, what if the problem isn’t even in my brain in the first place? What if…what if it’s my heart that’s broken, or my soul? Would ECT be able to fix that?”

The question rendered Dr. Joly speechless for a few moments, though he quickly recovered by grabbing Grantaire’s case file and opening it. “If you don’t want to try ECT again, we do have other options. We’ll return to talk therapy, we’ll reexamine your drug regimen. There’s always something more we can do, but you have to want to do it, Grantaire. Because if you don’t, the results could be…catastrophic.”

There was movement to Grantaire’s left that caught his eye, and he wasn’t entirely surprised to see the blond from before standing there. Unlike before, though, there was nothing malicious in his expression. “Make up your mind,” he said, his voice almost gently. “Grantaire, make up your mind to be free.”

Grantaire blinked and nodded, once, turning back to Joly, who was looking at him hopefully. “I’ve had this lovely and fascinating relationship with you doctors for five years now, but now I think I’m done.”

Joly shrugged helplessly. “Grantaire, medicine isn’t perfect, but it’s all that we have.”

Standing, Grantaire took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before looking Joly in the eye. “Goodbye, Dr. Joly.”

Then he left, not even noticing as he did that the blond apparition had disappeared.

* * *

 

Courfeyrac closed the door to the house behind him. He had sent Jehan ahead to get ready for his poetry reading, electing to stay with Combeferre as long as possible, to console him over yet another problem with Grantaire, but now he needed to leave if he was going to make it there in time. He heard someone clear his throat and turned to find Grantaire walking up the path toward him, something remorseful on his face. “Oh,” Courfeyrac said. “It’s you.”

“It’s me,” Grantaire confirmed, smiling a little wryly at that. “Can I talk to you for a minute? I know you have your thing with Jehan, but…”

Shrugging, Courfeyrac said, “Sure. Go ahead.”

Grantaire took a deep breath. “Maybe I’ve finally lost any semblance of sanity that I once had. I don’t know. And maybe this is crazier than anything I’ve ever done, but…I can’t stay here anymore. And I…I know things haven’t been easy for you these past weeks, or months or, hell, years, but you were always there for me. And I’m sorry. About all of this. I just can’t do this anymore, but I don’t…” He broke off and looked down, trying to figure out how best to say what he wanted. “I don’t want you to throw your life away or to do something stupid. Sometimes you remind me a little too much of myself, and that scares me because you’re better than that, Courf. You really are.”

Courfeyrac stared at him for a long moment, taking in everything that Grantaire had said, everything that they had been through, and his expression twisted almost bitterly. “Well thanks so much for picking now to decide to start caring, Grantaire, but where was this caring when I really needed it, when I was the only one left to pick up the pieces?” Grantaire stared at him, looking equal parts saddened and scared, and Courfeyrac’s voice broke as he told him, “He was my friend, and  _you_ , you were my friend, and when I lost him, I just needed my friends. I just needed you. I still do.”

Silence fell between them for a long moment, Courfeyrac torn between wanting to say more and keeping quiet, Grantaire torn between wanting to say the right thing and not knowing what the right thing to say was. Grantaire settled for shrugging and telling Courfeyrac, “Maybe now you have a chance at a normal life.”

Shaking his head, Courfeyrac laughed dryly. “I don’t need a normal life. My life has never  _been_  normal. One of my best friends died and soon after that, we started losing you, too.” He bit off his next words and took a deep breath before nodding slowly. “But a life that’s next to normal…that’d be nice. Something close enough to normal to get through, you know?”

Grantaire smiled sadly at him. “I know.” He reached out tentatively, and Courfeyrac let Grantaire pull him into a hug. “Take care of Combeferre,” Grantaire told him. “He’s going to need you now.”

Courfeyrac nodded and watched as Grantaire slipped inside the house, and then he took a deep breath, pulling out his phone to call Jehan as he headed to his car to drive to the poetry reading. “Hey,” he said, when Jehan picked up. “It’s me. I’m on my way.”

“Is everything ok?” Jehan asked instantly, sounding worried.

Closing his eyes for a brief moment, Courfeyrac shook his head, even though he knew Jehan couldn’t see. “Not really, no. Grantaire…I think he’s leaving for good now. And I…I’m fucked up, Jehan. I’m broken and I don’t know if I can be fixed.”

As he drove, Courfeyrac started listing off all the things that were wrong with him, all of his problems and issues, and all of the ways that he hadn’t been able to help himself. “What if I go the same way as Grantaire?” he asked, a little desperately, parking the car before walking toward the bar where the poetry reading was being held. “What if I can’t fix myself?”

“Then I’ll take care of you,” Jehan said simply.

Courfeyrac just shook his head again. “No!” he snapped. “You say that now but you can’t promise that! Not when you have no idea what may happen this week or next week or in the next year or five, ten years from now when you and I are married. You can’t know that. What if I try to kill myself like he did? What if—”

“Hey,” Jehan interrupted, his voice almost painfully soft. “You’re right, Courf, you could go crazy. But so could I. Because that’s the world and sometimes shit happens. You may be crazy, and I may be crazy for loving you, but we’re all a little fucked up. And guess what? Fucked up is  _perfect_  to me.”

By this time, Courfeyrac was standing in front of the bar, almost crying as he clutched his cell phone, and Jehan stepped outside, hanging up as he did. “Hey,” he said, his voice still soft. “Thanks for coming.”

“Hey,” Courfeyrac said, still trying not to cry.

Jehan stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Courfeyrac, holding him close. “Fucked up is perfect,” he whispered again. “And so are you.”

Courfeyrac managed a small smile, the first real smile he had smiled in what felt like weeks, and kissed Jehan. “You’re pretty damn perfect, too.”

* * *

 

“So anyway, I’m leaving,” Grantaire told Combeferre, his voice quiet but determined, and Combeferre looked up from where he was seated in the living room, his reading glasses perched on his nose. “I just…I thought you might want to know that.”

He shifted his suitcase from one hand to the other, biting his lip as he stared at Combeferre, who looked back at him in shock. “I know that I can’t…that I can never repay you for as faithful as you’ve been to me during this entire time, so I’m not going to try. But I can’t…I can’t let you keep catching me every time I fall. At some point or another, I have to be able to stand on my own. And maybe…maybe we fell into this too quickly, but I feel like I haven’t been myself ever since he died. And I need to figure out what that means.”

Combeferre opened his mouth as if to say something, but Grantaire quickly cut him off, not wanting Combeferre to try and convince him to stay. “We tried to make it work as best as we could, but, Ferre, you know as well as I do that this wasn’t working for a long time. And I have to take the chance being out on my own. I’m just sorry that you’re the one who gets left behind.”

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to meet Combeferre’s eyes. “I don’t know why you fell in love with me, and part of me wishes that you never did. I just want you to know that I still love you, that I will always love you. It’s just…it’s not enough. I have to do this.” He squared his shoulders and told Combeferre, the one word full of everything he had ever wanted to say, “Goodbye.”

His gaze moved past Combeferre for a brief moment and Grantaire inclined his head, just slightly, at whatever he saw over Combeferre’s shoulder. Then he was gone, the door closing after him, and Combeferre was alone.

With trembling fingers, he took his glasses off, setting them down on top of his book. “Now what?” he asked, out loud, feeling the tears that pricked in his eyes and threatened to spill down his cheeks. “I am the one who said I would always be there, and I was. Why wasn’t that enough? Why am I…why I am alone?”

“You’re not alone.”

The voice cut through the silence and Combeferre looked sharply to the blond figure smiling sadly at him. “No,” he whispered, horrified, his eyes widening as he realized what he was seeing. “Why didn’t you go with him? You shouldn’t still be here!”

The blond shook his head. “I wasn’t here for him,” he said simply. “I was here for you. I can’t let go, not while you still have such a hold on me.”

“I don’t have any hold on you!” Combeferre cried. “I don’t want you here! You’re dead! I watched as you were dying! Do you know how long I cried over you, how long I mourned for my best friend? And then when Grantaire needed me, I set aside my own grief to be strong for him, so you don’t get to stand there and say that I’m holding on to you when I’m not.”

The blond knelt in front of him, gripping his arm almost painfully. “You loved me,” he said steadily. “You were my best friend, and you loved me just as I loved you. You’ve always known who I was, but you’ve denied me and you’ve hidden from me and you’ve tried to act like you don’t care anymore, but you do. I know you do. Because I still care, too.”

Combeferre was crying freely by now, his free hand settling on top of the blond’s, and it was through his tears that he finally, finally called him by name. “Enj,” he said, his voice a rough whisper. “Enjolras.”

Enjolras smiled at him. “Hey, Combeferre.”

* * *

 

Courfeyrac was surprised that there was no light on when he got back from Jehan’s poetry reading, and when he turned the light on in the living room, he was even more surprised to see Combeferre still sitting there in the dark. “Combeferre?” he asked, crossing over to him, concerned. “Is everything…?”

“Grantaire’s gone.” Combeferre’s voice was soft, hollow, and Courfeyrac nodded.

“I know. I ran into him.” He bit his lip and reached out to squeeze Combeferre’s shoulder. “It’s just the two of us now, huh?” Combeferre nodded, closing his eyes, and Courfeyrac sighed and pulled him into a hug. “Look, whatever else has happened, I’m still here for you, ok? And I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this — together.”

Combeferre nodded, leaning against Courfeyrac. “Ok,” he whispered. “I just…I don’t know how to start.”

Courfeyrac laughed slightly. “Well, for starters, we need some light in here. Sitting in the dark? Probably not healthy.” Combeferre nodded, still serious, and Courfeyrac sighed and squeezed his hand. “We’ll live. I promise.”

And live they did, managing to finally move forward in their lives, even if the steps were small at first. A week or so later, Jehan asked Courfeyrac softly, “Do you know where he went? Have you heard from him?”

Courfeyrac lay down next to Jehan on the bed. “Yeah, I heard from him once. He’s staying with some friends.”

“He has other friends?” Jehan asked, sounding a little surprised, though he hesitated for a moment before asking innocently, “They actually exist? They’re not…you know…figments of his imagination?”

Rolling his eyes, Courfeyrac kissed Jehan’s forehead. “Yes, they actually exist.”

Though Jehan smiled, he still asked Courfeyrac cautiously, trying not to pry too much, “So that’s good, right? I mean, things have to be easier around here. And in the meantime, you have me.”

“Seriously?” Courfeyrac asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “You’re like number three on my list of issues.” Jehan scowled and poked him in the side, and Courfeyrac laughed loudly. “But hey, at least you’re my favorite problem.”

Jehan laughed as well, kissing Courfeyrac. “That’s all I ask.”

A few weeks later, Combeferre found himself in Dr. Joly’s office, smiling tentatively at the doctor, who nodded at him encouragingly. “I know you can’t tell me if you’re still treating him,” Combeferre started, feeling unspeakably nervous. “I just…I wondered if he’s ok.”

Joly frowned only slightly, but he told Combeferre gently, “I think he’s working on it.”

Combeferre nodded, knowing that Joly had already told him more than he should have in that simple sentence alone, even though it didn’t stop him from wanting to know more, wanting to know the answer to all the unasked questions he had. “Do you think he’ll come home?”

Hesitating for a moment, Joly said, “It’s…hard to know.”

“Right,” Combeferre said, standing. “Of course.”

He felt stupid. He shouldn’t have come, he should have known that he wouldn’t get any answers here. He didn’t even know what answers he had really been seeking. Joly stood as well, his expression remarkably gentle as he asked, “Combeferre. Would you like me to recommend someone for you to talk to?”

“Oh, no,” Combeferre said instantly, in a knee-jerk reaction. “No, I, uh, I’m…” The word ‘fine’ couldn’t seem to force its way past his lips, and he thought unwillingly of the number of times Grantaire had told him the same thing. He forced himself to look up at Joly. “Yes. I would.”

* * *

 

It was early morning, before the sun had even risen, and Combeferre stood at the kitchen sink, staring out at the horizon through the window as he sipped his morning coffee. He heard rather than saw first Courfeyrac then Jehan stumble into the kitchen in search of coffee. “Morning, Courfeyrac,” he said lightly. “Morning, Jehan.”

In perfect unison, both muttered, “Morning, Combeferre,” before taking their coffee and escaping back up to Courfeyrac’s bedroom.

Combeferre looked down at his cell phone, held loosely in the hand not currently gripping the mug of coffee, Grantaire’s name highlighted, waiting for him to press the button to call him. He looked for a long moment at the name, then set his cell phone down on the counter without calling it, draining his coffee and setting the mug down in the sink.

He looked out at the horizon, not turning away when the first rays of light broke across the sky, hitting him squarely in the face. Instead, he smiled slightly.

And from his position in the living room, where no one knew he was there, Enjolras smiled as well.


End file.
